a morning poem.
I woke early one morning,
The earth lay cool and still,
When suddenly a tiny bird,
Perched on my window sill,
He sang a song so lovely,
So carefree and so gay,
That slowly all my troubles,
Began to slip away,
He sang of far off places,
Of laughter and of fun,
It seemed his very trilling,
Brought up the morning sun.
I stirred beneath the covers,
Crept slowly out of bed,
Then gently shut the window,
And crushed his fucking head,
..... I dont like mornings!!!!!
coword.
I realise after all this time, perhaps all I've been doing is hiding behind the mask that is words, hoping the words confuse, and buy me a little time outside of reality.
for whom the bell tolls.
Make his fight
On the hill in the early day
Constant chill deep inside
Shouting gun,
On they run through the endless gray
On they fight, for they are right?
Yes, but who's to say?
For a hill, men would kill. Why?
They do not know
Stiffened wounds test their pride
Men of five,
Still alive through the raging glow
Gone insane from the pain that they surely know
For whom the bell tolls
Time marches on
For whom the bell tolls
Take a look to the sky
Just before you die
It's the last time you will
Blackened roar,
Massive roar, fills the crumbling sky
Shattered goal,
Fills his soul with a ruthless cry
Stranger now are his eyes to this mystery
He hears the silence so loud
Crack of dawn,
All is gone except the will to be
Now they see what will be,
Blinded eyes to see
For whom the bell tolls
Time marches on
For whom the bell tolls
fight or flight.
Fight ensures you get hurt.
Flight does not ensure you escape, but when you get hurt, the damage is worse. It also ensures that the thing you are escaping from can constantly come back to haunt you.
Yet why does flight always seem to be the more attractive option?
fuck me.
Exactly what it says.
pain. relief.
A bit of both.
and all things will end.
Sometimes life is altered.
Break from the bonds your hands are tied.
Uneasy with confrontation.
Won't turn out right, can't turn out right.
please can i be 5 again?
please?
just another.
It's the evening now. The evening today is like most evenings on most other days. Today happens to be Thursday, but it feels no different from a Monday or a Friday. Other than the fact that it feels slightly melancholic today. I'm sure the melancholy has nothing to do with the day of the week, or the month of the year or stuff like that. But it does have some far fetched links to having no constructive activities to do for the past month (which has felt like a year).
It's funny how a person who craves to escape the mundane routine of working/studying life feels so great when he finally breaks free of it. Then he falls into the routine of aimlessness and all of a sudden, there is a need to get back into the routine, even if it's just to have something to have a whine about. At least it takes ones mind of other less tangible stuff that happens when time is too abundant.
The routine of aimlessness is a scary thing. Time slows down to a crawl, and things that one may avoid thinking about while doing something slowly surfaces in your mind, bobbling about like a cistern may bobble about in the tank of a toilet. And when these are combined, one passes such a routine like a horror movie put on slow-mo. The contents of the horror movie is personalised, to what one particularly doesn't like and is replayed over and over again, different permutations and possibilities of those particular things. Closing your eyes doesn't make it go away. It doesn't go away. It cannot be grasped or understood. And what is not understood and rationalised is the most scary.
It hangs around until the particular fears are bravely faced and problems solved. Yet it is always easier with words. Talk is cheap. Talk is worthless, but the price of action is great. One chance. Perhaps that is part of the fear. Failure to take that chance. Action could cause failure. Yet inaction is also an action. What to do? Ramble on about it, hoping it would spur one into action. Yet never moving. This doesn't make sense anymore. Since when has anything made sense anyway? Perhaps that's why this evening is particularly melancholic.
justin.
